[ video ↳ english ] oo3 (backdated to the 27th-28th)

[angleterre]

[ Thursday. At the outskirts of Discedo. ]

[ The communicator isn't supposed to be on. At least not at first. There's breathy sigh and the viewscreen flicks on to show Arthur looking vaguely like a mummy, face bandaged, one eye swollen shut, the middle of his face wrapped with splints in place, limping through the forest and leaning against a stick while glancing down at his communicator. ]

[ Although he'd been told to sit tight by Rosemary, the second the woman decided to take a little excursion while Arthur was 'resting', he was out of the house and on the run. And by run, of course, it's implied he's limping along. He found a strong stick to lean against while exploring the forest, clumsily trying to utilise his communicator to follow the map programme. ]

[ It's only after fumbling with the device for about fifteen minutes does he notice the little thing is in fact recording, and he considers shutting it off, but some vindictive streak within him flares up and prevents him from terminating communications. ]

So you want a show? Fair enough. You'll have your bloody show.

[ Some more snuffling along. He's quiet for the next ten minutes, and by the sounds he's making, it seems like he's either making real progress in his great escape or the entire fiasco is so taxing on him he may collapse at any moment. ]

Monsters. Tch. Monsters! I told them they had nothing to worry about. America's clearly gone mad, France is a bastard, and the rest of you lot are a bunch of cowards. There's no monsters in this forest. Someone probably went out and found themselves startled by a sodding deer. Honestly, other planets, two moons, monsters, I'm tired of all this bollo-- [ And before he can finish, a ground-shaking roar rips from the throat of some gigantic thing, out of the communicator's line of sight, and though Arthur offers up no frightened glance, he does appear to be quite confused for a moment.Before that thought is completed, England is seen being lifted into the air by some giant, white furry thing, and the communicator drops to the ground with the sound of his screams echoing in the background, a healthy dose of red bathing the video feed before the communication cuts out. ]

~*~

[ Friday. At the Discedo hospital. ]

[ When he wakes, it feels vaguely like his head has been sucked through a black hole, made into a singularity and then exploded again in a big bang only to vaguely resemble the shape his head was in before. Sitting up feels somewhat akin to giving birth, and when he does manage to finally sit up, he finds his communicator is on on the beside table, (clean of blood too!), and a little figurine sitting next to it. ]

Nggg, fuckin' Hell... [ A hand to his head, and he reaches over for the communicator, but pauses, and picks up the doll, bringing it closer to him. When he speaks, it's almost as if he's speaking to the figurine. ] That wasn't my brightest idea. [ He tilts his head to the side. ] And just who put you here...

[ A full minute passes before he reaches over, blindly, and manages to shut off the communicator. ]





[ooc note: so this post is open to both video communicator and action on the 28th, though feel free to post reactions to Arthur's extremely climactic adventure on the 27th, he just won't respond to them seeing as he's being digested that day, and otherwise occupied. ]

Comments

[noblemen.livejournal.com]

Well, at least I know that my cause of death was either suicide or heart failure from losing the will to live. [ Baaaaaacking up why the fuck are you so close, France. ]

When you are done mentally scarring this poor man with a rather fortunate case of amnesia, Francis, I would request that you please leave me my personal space and do try to engage in pleasant conversation.

[ Tsk tsk he shakes his head at him. ] Honestly, I can't seem to see why I'd ever engage myself in anything with you, you're so... insensitive. [ wow now he's just being obvious but fuck it ]

[crotchroses.livejournal.com]

[All bets are off.]

I know what will help you remember!

[France immediately climbs the bed and mounts Arthur, effectively straddling him.]

I am the most sensitive, mon chere. [stroking England's cheek.] I'll take very good care of your body and when we are finished, you'll feel so much better!

[He leans down, hair hanging around and over his face. His expression is anything but soft--he's leering with the tinge of a blush.]

Release your tensions with me, eh?

[noblemen.livejournal.com]

What are you--!!

[noblemen.livejournal.com]

[noblemen.livejournal.com]

Well...

[noblemen.livejournal.com]

...if you insist, Francis.

[ And with that, he grabs him by the shoulder and pushes him clean off the bed. Enjoy the taste of the floor, you poofy arsehole. ]

[noblemen.livejournal.com]

Oh...

[noblemen.livejournal.com]

Bugger me, I do feel less tense! Imagine that. [ He settles back against the bed. ]

[crotchroses.livejournal.com]

[For old time's sake, he rolls off the bed. Somehow this helps him feel better too, even if he's not getting laid.

Nonetheless, he drags himself from the floor and drapes himself over England's middle.]

Angleterre. You are an idiot.

[noblemen.livejournal.com]

And you whine and scream like a bloody woman. Get off of me, you froggy fuck. [ Half-hearted shoving at his head, and groaning, and shifting in bed, until he finally manages to wiggle out (mostly) from underneath France, sitting just beside him on the bed. ]

[ For a moment, he doesn't say anything, just staring at him, blinking, pursing his lips, then subdued: ]

Are you all right like?

[ It's innocuous enough that he can deny the gravity of the statement, but he knows he's wagering more of his resolve on France's answer than he lets on. ]

1/3

[crotchroses.livejournal.com]

[He's grinning but... finally he lets Arthur squirm away. At least he isn't getting kicked in the face.]

Those words should be coming out of my mouth, rosbif.

2/3

[crotchroses.livejournal.com]

... [He may as well get this out of the way. He is much too tired to bandy about forever. There is a measure of laziness involved in this rather than so much sentimentality.]

For one night, I lived under the impression that you would not come back.

3/3

[crotchroses.livejournal.com]

. . .

[The silence is unsettling. He flexes his shoulders, rolling them, trying to push the tension away.]

That makes us even, non?

[noblemen.livejournal.com]

[ He rolls his tongue about his mouth, tasting something between bitter resolve and slight sympathy. It's sour, and it's old and has the delicious edge of sawdust on his tongue. Arthur glances down, then tilts his head to the side, for a moment, meeting Francis' eyes with compassion. ]

[ Then he shrugs and rolls his eyes. ]

Can't get rid of me that easily, you stupid bastard.

[crotchroses.livejournal.com]

You are the stupid bastard. Vous avez le cervau d'un sandwich au fromage!

[You have the brain of a cheese sandwich.]

[noblemen.livejournal.com]

[ oh it's on ]

[ Here, have the worst French accent he can manage: ]

Tu es un pute du bordel! [ He makes a face. ] Oh Christ, I feel like I turned into a frog. I need a swamp to wallow in now.

[crotchroses.livejournal.com]

Agh! [He covers his ears.] Mon Dieu! I would be better off with a knife rammed into my brain stem you sick pervert.

[noblemen.livejournal.com]

You'd be better off like that any day for any reason, you poofy fuck.

[crotchroses.livejournal.com]

I'll shove it up your ass instead, you uncultured swine.

[noblemen.livejournal.com]

Now who's being the sick pervert? Not that this comes as any real surprise.

[crotchroses.livejournal.com]

You, for thinking I even meant it that way. [take that.] Or I could rip off those stupid eyebrows one hair at a time... though I have the suspicion that they are the result of one of your poorly cast curses gone horribly wrong.

[noblemen.livejournal.com]

So you're admitting that magic does exist? How out of character for you, France. Next thing I'll hear from you will be that you see my faeries as well.

[crotchroses.livejournal.com]

I admit nothing! A-- [He pauses.

...













Hm.]

Non. You are an insane bastard. You're crazy! [Wow that is so halfhearted who is he kidding...]

[France clambers over and, somewhat behind England, rests his head on the other nation's shoulder.

He just needs to make sure he's there.

The residual effects from the nightmare of reliving his entire history, ending it with the revolution and England's supposed destruction, they're still hanging around him like a cloud and no amount of preening in a mirror will get rid of them in their entirety.]

Do you know what the others did? They were afraid I would continue on in conquest to the rest of them, except Amerique and Hong Kong, they were... very distressed. Even the mademoiselles Prusse and Romana confronted me.

Look at that Angleterre, they don't hate you! But, of course they don't, because hating you is what I do.

[God, does he hate him. The stupid smug, perverted, uncultured bastard.

Fuck England.

Fuck him for making France relieved that he's alive and not permanently dead, because who would he have to hate? Germany? Austria? None of them could come close!

He grinds his teeth, growling.] ... Fuck you, Angleterre.

[Fuck England for making France need him. Not a romantic need--the thought of that would boil France's blood in the worst way--but a fraternal need, or... God, he doesn't know. Fuck France, fuck England, fuck the fact that all these feelings--the ones from the last 2,000 years--had to be dredged up when he'd had them buried nicely, far away in some dungeon he's set aside like any other nation would for this kind of thing.

France trembles a little. He doesn't know if it's in anger or stress or what, and he won't think on it because he doesn't have to. They never have to, there's so many words but neither of them have to say them out loud anymore. They just know.

Even with his expression of seething hatred, rubbed raw by recent events, this position and a shaking sigh are revealing enough; he feels exposed and he hates it, so he wraps his arms around himself and lets his emotions settle, right there next to his enemy. England can take or leave them as he pleases, France can't remember the last time he's really cared about that.

Give him a day at most. He'll be fine.]

[noblemen.livejournal.com]

[noblemen.livejournal.com]